never fall away
by bravevulnerability
Summary: 'It had to be a dream.' A post-ep for 6x23, For Better or For Worse. Two shot.
1. Chapter 1

_"Ours is a great love story, so what's a great love story without obstacles to overcome?"_

_-Richard Castle_

* * *

When he surfaced from the darkness, there was a man standing in front of him, dominating and powerful, reflexively instilling fear in him. But he didn't know why he was supposed to be afraid. He didn't even know where he was.

"Who are you?" he rasped, coughing around the words, his body throbbing with each attempted syllable.

God, he was in pain - severe, debilitating pain that barely allowed him to think straight. What the hell had happened to him?

The intimidating man towering over him cocked his head to one side, curious and intrigued.

"You don't know who I am?" the man inquired, his voice was light, friendly even, but no, something still wasn't right. That much was clear through the dense fog of confusion and aching discomfort.

"No?" he answered apprehensively.

The man stepped back, a strange grin spreading across his face as he paced pensively before him.

"This changes everything." He could hear the guy murmuring to himself. "It may be even better."

But then suddenly a female voice – sharp, clipped, and venomous – intervened. "We stick to the plan, Jerry. We've worked too hard for this-"

"Just imagine it for a moment," Jerry_,_ apparently, insisted to the woman he still couldn't see in the shadows of the room they were in. Although, now that he attempted to chance a look around, it seemed less like a room and more like a rickety old shed. Was he being held captive? "He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember anything. Do you realize what that does to his life? To _hers_?"

The woman was silent, contemplative, but made a quiet noise of affirmation after a few moments and while his captors' attention was otherwise occupied, he flexed his wrists, grit his teeth against the burn of ropes tightly coiled around his bones and the hot rivulet of blood that trickled from his eyebrow. Glancing upwards caused him to wince – his neck was in agony – but it showed him a hayloft and he realized he was in some type of abandoned barn. What he didn't see was an accessible exit.

He wasn't sure where, how, or why, all he knew was that this was bad and he needed to escape. Fast.

"It does open the door to some interesting possibilities."

"We intended to kill him, to ruin both of their lives for good, we can still do that." He stiffened, catching the whispered half of Jerry's words and realizing why the man had instantly set off his fight or flight response. _Kill _him? He had no idea why they wanted him dead, what he could have done to these people, but they were going to murder him. "But I can't resist watching this play out first."

The woman sighed, as if at last deciding to concede to her partner's plan, and finally stepped into the light projecting from the single bulb hanging haphazardly from one of the wooden beams. She was pretty, almost, with pristine porcelain skin, ice blue eyes and auburn hair. And she was dressed nice too - unlike Jerry. Her style was professional in a sharp business suit and gleaming, nude stilettos, but there was something dark, toxic and deadly, about the woman, and it made him fear her just as much, if not more than her male companion.

Although he didn't know much, none of this made sense to him. His two captors made an unlikely pair and he couldn't fathom how he of all people had become their victim. Well, then again, he couldn't really fathom anything at the moment.

He scoured his brain for a memory, a familiar picture of anything that might shine some light onto who he was, but there was nothing. Maybe this entire situation was just some bad dream. Maybe he had spent too much time in the sun on the private island in the Maldives with his wife, causing his brain to produce this crazy nightmare.

His brow furrowed at his own thoughts. Wife. Honeymoon. He was supposed to be on a honeymoon?

Great, now he was confusing himself further.

"Time to sleep, Mr. Castle," the woman said quietly, producing a syringe from the pocket of her slacks and pricking his neck even as he attempted to dodge the thin needle.

The man and woman were talking again, but their words started to blend together and his vision began to blur as whatever poison the woman had injected him with spread through his bloodstream and forced him to relinquish his grip on reality. But he needed to stay awake, had to stay awake before they killed him, but his entire skull was throbbing, his body aching from being tied up and tortured – he didn't need to recall whatever beatings these people had bestowed upon him to feel them – and the thick darkness looming over his consciousness was just too strong.

He didn't even have the chance to ask her why she was talking about a castle.

* * *

When Kate and her team raided the farmhouse in upstate New Jersey, they found Kelly Nieman and Jerry Tyson hastily making an escape. They caught his kidnappers, they had them in custody, but Castle wasn't with them. After a vast sweep of the area, the team came to the conclusion that Castle wasn't anywhere on or even near the property.

Beckett fell to her knees on the hay covered ground in the barn, where they had found a wooden chair smeared with blood - presumably _his blood -_ and missing a leg. She smothered a sob with her hands as Ryan knelt down beside her, whispering assurances and attempting to help her keep it together. But she had just been so tired, so hopeless after searching relentlessly for her fiancé. She had refused to believe he had been in that car, and when they located the stripped SUV just outside of town only hours after they had found Castle's inflamed Mercedes, she had done her best to push her emotions aside and focus on finding him.

It was beginning to feel impossible.

Ryan had tried to calm her, but she was too far gone for that. She wordlessly rose from the dirty ground, stalked outside to where Tyson and Nieman were being read their rights.

"Where is he?" she snarled, grabbing Tyson by the collar of his shirt and slamming him hard into the side of the cruiser, her nails cutting through the fabric of his t-shirt and into her own palms. "I swear to god if-"

"What's wrong, Detective Beckett?" he grinned, his eyes dancing with the thrill of the game. He thought this was all a _game. _"Sorry to have ruined your big day, but I figured you would be understanding to the idea of a little well-deserved revenge."

Esposito tugged her back and she allowed it, allowed her colleague to think she was in control.

Words she had spoken to Vulcan Simmons flashed through her mind just before she lost it. Words she had spat at him while being tortured for information.

_Do you want undignified? _

Her breathing grew shallow - short, sharp pants rattling through her chest - as her vision became colored with streaks of red.

_Then wait til you see what I do to you._

And then she lunged for Jerry Tyson with a shout, slitting her nails down the side of his face before he could even attempt to dodge her, aiming for his eyes so he couldn't look at her or anyone else with that maliciously taunting gleam ever again, the way he had probably looked at her husband as he tormented him. Her imagination tortured her enough with images of what Tyson could have done to him; she didn't need to see a fucking slideshow of possibilities in those vindictive eyes.

"Stand down, Beckett!" Esposito was shouting at her, wrenching her off of the other man with a rough dig of his hands into her shoulders. "Stand down," Javi whispered in her ear once he finally hauled her away, but she could barely hear him.

"I'll find him," she growled, her eyes darting between them both - Tyson stunned and on the ground with blood trickling down his cheek, and Nieman standing a few feet away, glancing between her partner and the detective in alarm - the people that could have potentially _ruined their lives_. If Castle was dead... She bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from doing something that could get her arrested. "And when I do, you better hope he's alive and well or you won't be."

Beckett shoved Esposito's arm away and stormed in the direction of her Crown Vic.

"This is police brutality!" She could hear Kelly Nieman exclaiming before Ryan ungentlemanly maneuvered her into the backseat of the first police vehicle, but Kate didn't hear his reply, she was already slipping inside and peeling out of the gravel driveway, heading back towards Manhattan where she would return to the loft and have to explain to his mother and daughter that he still wouldn't be coming home. Castle was still missing.

She made it 15 minutes on the highway before she had to pull over, the tears compromising her vision, the keening noises clawing out of her throat shaking her entire body. She had finally found his kidnappers, thought she had found him too, and he hadn't been there.

She couldn't do this again. She couldn't handle _not knowing _again.

* * *

He wasn't sure how he had been transported to a park, why his wrists were duct taped to the chains of a swing set, or why so many people were staring at him in the early morning light. Was something wrong with him? Was he still bleeding? Was he still dreaming?

He had to be. It had to be a dream; that was why he was so confused. His mind was just… _blank_. An untouched canvas with no paint or markings. No memories.

The tape at his wrists kept him upright even as he slumped forward, the sockets of his arms straining with the effort as he risked toppling off the swing. Whatever was still swirling in his veins dragged him back down.

It had to be a dream.

* * *

The next time he woke, it was bright. Far too bright. Beeping noises surrounded him, murmured voices, and the scent of sanitizer heavy in the air. It was still empty – his mind – but he knew this wasn't where he was supposed to be either. He wondered if he would he ever awaken in the right place.

"Mr. Castle? Mr. Castle, can you hear us?"

He heard someone talking about castles again, a person apparently.

Whoever Mr. Castle was, he hoped the man was okay.

* * *

Kate wasn't on call the following morning, taking the day off without even asking because she knew Gates would demand it, so she was surprised when Esposito's number flashed across the screen of her cell phone.

They had gotten a call from New York Presbyterian Hospital, he informed her, an unidentified male suffering from flesh wounds and a concussion had been admitted the night before - a man who they were near certain was the missing Richard Castle.

Kate was out of the loft and on the streets in seconds.

When she arrived at the hospital, she learned he was still in intensive care, but he was conscious, and after calling his mother and daughter, she was allowed to see him.

But then the doctor delivered news that made her want to crumble all over again. Castle had lost his memory. He couldn't recall the date, the year, his own name – he was a completely cleared slate of a man.

Her fiancé wouldn't even know who she was.

* * *

He was stable, apparently, yet he felt anything but.

Every breath hurt - his ribs like jagged pieces of shrapnel stabbing against his chest each time he attempted a proper inhale, the cool air filtering down his throat searing against his lungs. One of his eyes was swollen shut, he wasn't completely positive which one, and god his head was killing him. His entire body felt broken.

They had broken him.

He didn't know who he was, what had happened to him, why he had been kidnapped and what the mysterious man and woman duo had done to leave him so physically demolished. But his doctor had informed him that he had a fiancé and she was here, desperate to see him.

He had granted his permission with a shrug that he instantly regretted - because really what other choice did he have? - and minutes later, a tall, beautiful woman came striding in and he was suddenly glad he had agreed to see her. Her hair was in a loose knot at her neck, her hazel eyes were wide and red rimmed with dark smudges of purple coloring the delicate skin underneath. She looked worn and ragged and so incredibly exhausted, but his first thought was that she was still so very beautiful. His fiancé was a model?

She faltered in the doorway though, her already worried face quickly becoming consumed by horror, which told him he must look _really _bad, but she still made her way to his side and gingerly touched his cheek with gentle fingers and a warm palm.

He wanted to remember her. When he awoke to the emptiness it had been terrifying, but he had been so occupied with the baser instinct of actually surviving, he had been able to push the daunting fear of having a wiped clean mind out of his thoughts. Now the panic and frustration were rattling around in his empty skull, causing the pulsating ache already residing there to amplify. He may never remember her or any part of his life.

"Hi," he breathed, inching his hand to the edge of his hospital bed and experimentally tracing his knuckles down the top of her jean clad thigh.

She instantly caught his hand and settled herself carefully next to his hip, wary not to jostle him, and brought his knuckles – oh, he had barely noticed those were bandaged now too – to her lips. It felt familiar, _she _felt familiar, and that had to be something, right?

"Oh, Castle," she whispered and he lifted his eyes to her at that – why was she calling him by his supposed surname? What kind of name was _Castle _anyway? – and followed her gaze as she took in the visible injuries scattered across his face and his exposed upper body. The concern pouring uninhibited from her eyes made him feel a little better, less alone. At least if he remained lost in his own confusion, he would have this woman, his fiancé, to help guide him.

He brushed his thumb over the slim bone of her index finger in a form of appreciation, an easier way of expressing himself at the moment because talking was an agony he hoped to reserve for as long as he could. But she seemed to understand his silent language and cautiously began outlining his face with tentative fingertips that made the intense throbbing in his skull recede.

"Maldives," he murmured suddenly, remembering the random thought that had flickered through his mind in the barn. "Supposed to be... a honeymoon?"

He felt guilty for the hope it brought to her eyes, knowing he had little else to give and that an out of place snippet about an island was not nearly enough.

"Yeah," she breathed. "That's where we were going to go after the wedding."

"Oh. Did something happen? To our wedding?"

Her jaw tightened, like she was attempting to keep her face from crumbling, but she nodded slowly. "Do you remember the people who held you hostage?"

He straightened at that, felt his body's reprimand at the action burning hotly through his limbs, but felt the familiar spike of fear too.

"They're still out there, they're going to-"

"No, no," she whispered, leaning over him and intently brushing her thumb along the swollen skin lining his cheekbone to reclaim his attention. "We got them, they're in custody and they aren't going anywhere. You're safe, Rick. I promise."

"But they ruined our wedding?" he pieced together quietly, a fresh flare of anger igniting in his chest. That's what Jerry had been talking about when he had mentioned ruining her life. They had ruined her wedding by taking him away, they had beaten him to ensure he suffered, and then they had planned to take him away from her permanently by ending his life.

Her head dropped and he noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks, forming a puddle on his hospital gown. The warm liquid stained his chest and he wanted to reach for her, hold her and tell her it was alright even if it really wasn't, but he could barely move. He didn't know her, but he felt protective of her, affectionate towards her. He didn't doubt his old self had loved her; he could already picture himself loving her again.

"Kate."

He didn't know where the name had come from, or if it was even _her_ name, but her watering eyes lifted, brightened, and she nodded, the panic that had carved itself into the lines of her lovely face slowly beginning to recede.

"Hope I remember you, Kate," he sighed softly. "Want to remember you."

"You will," she insisted gently, giving his hand a tender but encouraging squeeze. "You're going to be okay," she promised him and even in the impenetrable haze of uncertainty, he believed her.


	2. Chapter 2

Kate walked into their bedroom quietly, so not to wake him, but he startled at the softest of steps and she saw he hadn't been sleeping at all.

"Hey," she murmured softly, crawling onto her side of the mattress and cradling his skull when he turned his face into her thigh.

She gently raked her nails through his hair, discretely checking the still healing scars running through multiple areas of his skull – the back, the sides, his forehead. Tyson had really done a number on him. For a while - those first few hours he had spent alone and unconscious after his admission to the hospital - the doctors actually believed there was a chance he wouldn't make it.

Authorities had found him on the swings - their swings - beaten and bloodied, scaring children with his bludgeoned appearance, and he hadn't even realized it. Hadn't even known who he was.

"How are you?" she asked and Castle sighed, sat up slowly and pressed his back into the leather headboard, looked over at her in that helpless way that made her heart clench.

"Head hurts," he mumbled, opening his arms for her in invitation and she gingerly moved to sit between his knees, her head and shoulder against his chest and her eyes on his face.

"Did you take-"

"They make me so heavy, Kate," he said tiredly, drained from all the medications he had been prescribed since being discharged a few weeks ago. His body had healed without much issue – the black eye cleared up, the abrasions from the car crash closed and scarred over, but his bruised ribs still made breathing difficult and the pain in his already damaged knee still flared with fierce intensity. Tyson had known exactly where to aim for prolonged pain despite the fact that he had planned to kill him in the end. He had wanted Rick to hurt and she instinctively curled her body in closer, protective.

"I was thinking that maybe later we could go on a walk," she suggested lightly, gently, because leaving the loft was still a struggle.

He suffered so relentlessly with the fear that it wasn't over, that even though Tyson and his partner, Kelly Nieman, had both been arrested, even though Tyson himself was now dead - found hanging in his cell - someone would still come for him, for Alexis and Martha, for her. He woke in cold sweats and panicked cries every night over it and although the paranoia was progressively decreasing over time, she still worried every time she saw the horror on his face when he was wrenched from his sleep by the terror of nightmares that were probably all too real.

He swallowed and she brushed her lips over his Adam's apple.

"Sure," he answered, but the single syllable was strangled. "After this headache clears up, we'll go," he said more certainly and Kate squeezed his hand. "But will you stay for a bit?"

"Of course," she assured him instantly. She had promised Alexis she would help her study for that exam she had in her college physics course, but his daughter would understand if she was a few minutes late. Alexis had been forced to learn how to extend her patience and consideration more than ever before in the last month.

"Sometimes I imagine how you must have looked that day, in your mom's dress," he murmured suddenly and she bit her lip, closed her eyes against his neck – all thoughts of that day, of their wedding, had remained so very painful to encounter. "That's what I was thinking about before you came in. You must have been so stunning."

"Your mom thought so," she said with a sad reminiscent smile playing at her lips, coasting her nails up and down his side, over his ribs with caution.

"Is your dress okay? I never even thought - but after you must have been on the side of the road with it…"

"It's still wearable, Castle. You'll see me in it one day, I promise."

It wasn't necessarily a lie. Her dress had been mostly unscathed, but still damaged. When she had made it to the scene of the crash, laid her eyes on the flaming car he had supposedly been inside of, she had fallen to her knees on the dirty pavement, momentarily in shock. And then she had staggered to her feet, attempted to propel herself down the hill before one of the officers grabbed her by the waist, keeping her back despite her violent cries of protest.

_That's my husband, you let me go to my husband._

The skirt had been stained - ash, dirt, and grime smeared along the middle and the edges of tulle - but she knew a certain fashion designer who had been willing to help. Once Matilda King had heard the news - after recovering from the explanation of what had happened to Kate's original dress - the woman had demanded she lend her hand, and now professionals were currently repairing Kate's wedding dress. Her mother's beautiful dress.

"Soon?"

Kate nodded. "Soon."

"I don't want to wait anymore," he whispered, tightening his arms around her, pressing her firmly against him despite the flickers of pain she knew it evoked in his bones. "I want to marry you now."

"Me too," she admitted, brushing her nose along the line of his jaw. "But I want you to be fully healed, Castle. I want-"

"My memory is back," he persisted, cupping her face in his hands and giving her a proud smile. "I remember every single thing like it never left."

"I know, babe. And I couldn't be happier about that," she smiled back, because the statement really could not be more true. She wanted nothing else but to keep him, keep the beautiful life they had together, the life that had been practically foreign to him for two torturous weeks.

The doctors had assured her it was a temporary grade amnesia and that while there was a chance he would not recover his memory, there was also great likelihood that he would. But no reassurances from his doctor eased the fear that he would remain oblivious to her and his family. Nothing stopped her heart from shattering every time he had looked to her with confused longing.

Kate had been truly terrified that he would never remember her and their story and everything they had been through together. She had been scared he would never remember his daughter, who had been an inconsolable wreck for days after her father had stared at her like she was a stranger. She had worried for his mother, who had remained calm when in front of them, but Kate had heard the woman crying alone in her bedroom too many times to count.

They were better now, all of them. It had been six weeks since they had found him clueless in the hospital and it had been anything but an easy journey, but so far it was a successful one. His memories had come back, slowly, steadily, creeping back in with uncertainty that had him asking for confirmation every time a vision flashed through his mind, but he remembered now without struggle or doubt.

Leaning into his touch and relishing in the shine of his eyes, the sapphire gleam they had been so long without, she kissed his palm and continued. "I want you to be able to stand with me without any pain," she murmured, dusting her fingers over his ribs once more for emphasis. "I want us to go on our honeymoon and be able to celebrate without worrying about breaking you," she teased and he huffed indignantly.

"You weren't worried a couple of nights ago," he grinned against her hair.

She rolled her eyes, but ignored him and continued, "And I want these headaches to be gone. They make you miserable."

He sighed, couldn't deny that. His post-concussion headaches were painful and usually had him slinking off to their bedroom to sleep off the drumming ache in his skull. "They are improving though. Just a dull roar most days."

"Has the hypnotherapy you tried been helpful at all?"

He shrugged. He hated therapy most days – all types. He was forced to go for his head quite often, sometimes his body too, but also for his mind. She knew the signs of post traumatic stress all too well, and after she had watched him experience his first episode - the vivid memories of Tyson and the sadistic beatings leaving him wedged in a corner with his head between his knees - she had called his doctor, received a recommendation. The attacks were less frequent now and usually she was successful in pulling him back to her, to their present, before he fell into the memories of the recent past.

She sometimes wished those memories had remained unearthed.

"Honestly, the best treatment is when you give me a massage."

His lips turned upwards against her forehead and she smirked, sifting her fingers through his hair in response. In the earlier stages of his recovery, she would lie in bed with him for hours, trailing her fingers over his scalp because he swore it made the headaches stop and helped him sleep. She stilled tended to indulge the habit, even when his head wasn't engulfed in agony.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking, for our next wedding-" She swallowed hard to disguise the stutter in her breathing and nodded along in encouragement. They should have only had one wedding, their perfect wedding that they had looked forward to for so long. "We could do something more intimate. Just us. Alexis, your dad and my mom. The boys and Gates. Your wedding day was supposed to be magical, and I hate that it was ruined, but-"

"Castle," she said sternly, sitting up straight and maneuvering her body to face his. "It wasn't _mine_, it was ours. Our wedding day was ruined by a monster, you have nothing to feel guilty about."

His gaze shifted away and - shit, his eyes were watering. He had never cried about this in front of her. They had shed tears during their reunion, during panic attacks, during the many moments of frustration that littered the days of his recovery, but never about their wedding. They had carefully avoided talking about that day. This was why.

"You had been so excited," he croaked, but there was a sad smile on his face as he brushed his knuckles along the bone of her cheek. "I remember your voice on the phone, when I was so close to being there, you were so happy. And I couldn't wait to see you, because I knew you would look indescribable. When Tyson had me locked up, I just kept thinking of you and how you would have looked walking down the aisle."

Her own tears clogged her throat and she settled her palms at his jaw, delicately laid her forehead to rest against his.

"What were you saying," she whispered. "About our next wedding?"

"We could do something small, here in Manhattan," he suggested gently, tracing his hands up and down the curve of her spine through her t-shirt. "Go on our honeymoon just like we planned, and then later, we can have the wedding we originally wanted, out in the Hamptons surrounded by everyone who made it on that list we slaved over."

She had started nodding in agreement before he had even finished explaining. She didn't even care about having the 'perfect wedding' anymore, didn't care about where they exchanged vows and rings or who was in attendance, as long as _he_ was there.

"I just want to marry you, Kate."

"I want to marry you too," she rasped, circling her thumb over his chin. "So much, you have no idea."

"I do," he insisted softly, tracing the shell of her ear and spreading his fingers along the bones of vertebrae at her neck. "Believe me, I do."

"We'll start planning tonight, okay?"

His nose nudged into her cheek, encouraged her mouth to meet his, and kissed her soundly, kissed away the lingering sadness and memories, kissed her until they were both breathless and his ribs burned.

"At least we won't have much to plan this time."

She huffed a laugh and shook her head against him.

"As long as the one person on my list makes it, I don't care about anything else," she sighed, resting her cheek to the ridge of his collarbone, feeling his chin lower to the top of her head, lips sweeping along the line of her hair.

"Nothing will keep me away this time," he promised solemnly and she ignored the fact that it was a promise neither he nor anyone else could ever actually make. Fate, or the universe, as he preferred to call it, had brought them together and torn them apart plenty of times now, it could do it again just as easily. Their love story deserved a happy ending, they had strived so hard to earn it, but that didn't ensure they would receive it.

She chose to believe him.

* * *

**A/N: I had only intended to explore the idea of Castle recovering from the car accident, but then the rest happened. **

**Thank you so much to Liz for beta-ing and thank you to those who read and indulged this little story. Feedback is welcome and so greatly appreciated.**

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